


Fools in Paradise

by Odyle



Category: The Book Group
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odyle/pseuds/Odyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clare and Kenny meet again at a romance writers convention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Introduction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ishie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishie/gifts).



> Thank you to damalur for her patience, kind ear, and editing. Any mistakes that remain are my own.
> 
> Any of the Twitter handles used within are made up for the purposes of this fic.

She got a coffee at a Starbucks in the lobby of a hotel down the street from the convention center, then tucked herself into a corner and turned her phone on again. No messages or texts from anyone, though Amanda would surely text her once she figured out Clare had gone AWOL from the convention. There were a few emails in the inbox, but nothing that needed to be returned before she made it back to her room and the ease of typing her laptop afforded. Clare opened twitter last, expecting the worst.

 

 **JRutan** Anyone know how @ **KennyMcLeod** and @ **KingaP** know each other?

 **MsRomantic** @ **JRutan** Kinga lived over there for a while, right?

 **Stella1974** @ **JRutan** @ **MsRomantic** It better be a good story

 **JRutan** @ **KingaP** Any comment?

 

She navigated over to his account. There was a picture of him and a few stock tweets promoting his books, but nothing else. Disappointed, she went back to her feed to assess the damage.

 

 **KKDunn** @ **Stella1974** What happened?

 **PinotBooks** @ **KKDunn** @ **Stella1974** THIS.

 **Stella1974** @ **KKDunn** @ **PinotBooks** @ **KingaP** & @ **KennyMcLeod** know each other somehow

 **Stella1974** @ **KKDunn** @ **PinotBooks** Only people on stage saw @ **KingaP** brush him off.

 

"I didn't brush him off," Clare told her phone.

The phone had no response.

She closed Twitter and opened the news app, resolved to make no comment on the matter. The resolution lasted halfway through an article about the latest antics of Miley Cyrus. Clare opened Twitter and composed half a dozen tweets she then promptly deleted. She settled for something simple.

 

 **KingaP** Had a good time at the History and Romance panel. See everyone at the Ivy Gate Books dinner. #RWA2012

 

She put her phone away and concentrated on drinking her coffee. After a little contemplation Clare decided to go back to her room and take a nap. It was best to let the whole thing blow over, she decided. At any rate, she would need her energy when she saw Kenny again that evening.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to damalur for giving this a going over.

She left the keys to her apartment with her downstairs neighbor and had her mother drive her to the airport. Clare was scheduled to stay the week in California, though the convention only ran Thursday through Sunday. She planned to take the rest of the week and drive up the California coast. She'd booked a sedan for the trip, but her publisher had promised to upgrade it to a convertible if she made it through the question and answer session without swearing or getting defensive.

"You'll never be able to do it," her mother told her. She'd insisted on staying with her until Clare got in the line for security. "You're too much like your father."

Clare left her on the far side of the terminal lobby perched on her suitcase while she went to check in.

It wasn't that she didn't like her mother, but it was apparent where Jean had inherited her sense of charm from. The two were rarely in the same place at the same time, which was good for the universe as far as Clare was concerned. They fed off on one fusing into some super powered nagging monster. She feared for the world if Jean ever came back to Cleveland. It would be an act only motivated by spite, but it might end them all.

It took her several tries but she got the automated ticket machine to spit out her boarding pass.

 _Pettengill, Clare: CLE - > ORD, ORD -> LAX_

She resisted the urge to kiss the ticket or question the sense in moving back to Cleveland when she had repatriated. Clare dragged her carry-on behind her, her purse on the other shoulder, feeling bulky.

"Be safe," her mother told her, clutching her own purse to her chest in the way only elderly or frightened women do. "Don't forget to call me when you get in to the hotel. Your cellphone will work there?"

"It's Anaheim, not Ulan Batar."

Her mother seemed satisfied and they continued on toward security. The line was slow early in the morning on a Thursday.

"Stop," her mother barked as Clare went to slip into the maze of guide ropes. "Come give me a hug."

Clare pulled her load back to where her mother had stopped. She leaned down to wrap her arms around her mother for a quick squeeze before departing, but her mother clamped her arms around Clare.

"Don't wear that bright red lipstick. It isn't flattering on you unless it's dark. It makes you look like a tramp."

"I left it on my bathroom counter," Clare said, knowing fully well it was in the meager make-up bag she'd packed in her carry-on.

"And don't get too drunk. You throw up so easy. No one's going to like you enough to hold your hair back."

"Okay, mom."

“Don’t do anything stupid. I’m not going to fly out there to bail you out.”

“I love you, too, Mom,” Clare said as she pulled free from her mother.

“Have fun,” her mother called after her as Clare wended her way through the maze of ropes toward security.

 

\---

 

Clare spent three years in Edinburgh before she gave in to defeat and a nearly empty bank account. Somehow, she’d collected so many things that they no longer fit comfortably in her suitcase. She had come to Scotland with an admittedly large suitcase, but she’d been able to drag it by herself and all of her things had it in it.

Clare gave Rab the collection of O. Henry short stories she’d come across in a charity shop and hadn’t had the heart to leave behind. Her copy of _On the Road_ went to Jean, who’d probably thrown it away.

She carried two books back to Cincinnati: Don Quixote, almost falling apart at the binding, and Kenny’s book, wrapped in a sweater so nothing marked it up. The other books she left behind at Lachlan’s, hoping he’d read one and finally find a clue.

Flights had taken her from Edinburgh to Amsterdam to Memphis to Cincinnati.

It was nice to drop out of the world and just be in airport land. The lights were set at the same brightness and the walls were the same color at each airport. Clare had plenty of time to observe over several long layovers. Sameness made it easy to ignore the hurt that the real world held. The news on the TVs by the terminal in Amsterdam were all in Dutch--though the language was just familiar enough to catch her attention.

On arrival in Memphis, Clare called her mother. The conversation was short, with Clare lying to say she’d heard her flight number being called. Her mother was waiting at the carrel when Clare came down to find her bag upon arriving in Cincinnati.

Her mother gathered Clare in her arms and pulled her close.

“Are you okay?” her mother asked.

Leaving Lachlan was harder than she thought it would be. Clare had never loved him, but it was still difficult to let go. Letting him go was part of letting Scotland and a piece of her sense of herself go. She could feel the absence of it. He was an awful little man when it came down to it. She might have been awful as well, but not so awful as to be deserving of him. Clare came to this realization one evening while suffering through Lachlan questioning a waiter about what would be gluten-free, soy-free, dairy-free, and nut-free on the restaurant's menu. Lachlan settled on the veal.

She was tired of looking at the manuscript she’d written. It was on the third revision, and nothing had improved since the first. Thinking about it made her chest feel tight, like she couldn’t quite get enough air. How could expressing herself make her feel so horrible? Clare was half resigned to giving it up completely and burning the pages and possibly her laptop with them.

Kenny had a new girlfriend, and he really liked her.

Strangely, she found that it was the last one that hurt the most. She was a feminist and did not need a man to complete her life, Clare told herself. Her brain was towing the party line, but her heart was crushed.

Clare buried her face against her mother’s neck and started to cry. Her mother stood there with her, letting her sob all the while humming quietly.


End file.
